Reality?
by Underscore1990
Summary: Short Story, Is this Real, Everyone turning against him, or has his paranoia got the better of him?


**Reality?**

**A/N:** This is a short piece that I was trying to practice Characterisations on. Its a good story in its own right (hopefully) so please have a read.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

School was a novel experience for a boy who had saved the world five times over and it was with a bemused smirk that the black haired boy sat listening in his maths class. Really who needed simultaneous equations in the real world, he thought to himself, saving the world required bucket loads of bravery and an penchant for insanity. Yet here he was sitting in this maths class listening to the teacher drone on in his monotonous tone, his bald head reflecting the summer sunshine.

He, Alex Rider teenage spy, was here used and forgotten by those who had kept him involved in a never ending nightmare that he called life. He bitterly remembered every life threatening situation that he had been forced into, he knew he had a hundred enemies ready to maim and kill him at the first opportunity. Yet there he sat in maths class, with an invisible target on his back, an enormous bounty on his head.

In central London under the cover of a merchant bank, Alan Blunt sat coldly calculating the offer before him, by his side sat Ms Jones not her real name of course, watching the man's manipulations.

"We'll have to save the people rather than that one boy, don't we?" resignedly asked Ms Jones, a single tear could be seen shining on her face that suppressed emotion, she too the assistant to the head of MI6 understood the implications the threat hand delivered before them.

"Yes, I believe in our country's best interest, Alex Rider needs to retire...permanently," Blunt replied with deliberation.

"Shall I begin the proceedings for a termination of his contract, sir?" Jones asked, her cool cold hearted exterior covering the moral repugnancy, at what she was about to do.

"Yes find his file and label the experiment a failure and the results are to be sealed and subsequently misplaced," Blunt replied saddened by the small deceptively insignificant and innocent A4 document in front of him, that conveyed such malice.

They stood up and left the office to grieve in their own way, as the piece of paper lay there, a malicious little thing, those without the training would only see a verse from a nursery rhyme,_ "All the kings horses and all the kings men couldn't put Humpty back together again,"_ those who understood the encoded messages saw the choice between the murder of a boy or the murder of a large percentage of Britain.

As they continued setting their plans in motion Alex Rider was ready to go to lunch. The cafeteria in which he sat provided sub standard food, and as Alex deliberated, Jamie Oliver's show would hardly make a difference to the heart bypass food that they served here, He watched the various students go about their mundane motions in the school, as expected the people walked with a gait that was innocent in a sense, their petty minds engaged in simple matters.

Alex sat by himself no one approached him, he was the weirdo, always out of school supposedly sick, supposedly in hospital. He sat there eating, oblivious to the stares he was receiving from the other students. The petty rivalries of the school was to come to climax, as two boys approached Alex.

Little did they, he or anyone else for that matter know that he had he had been nominated for termination, if he had a sixth sense, he would have heard Johnes's prophetic words whispering across the rooftops, "I'm sorry Alex."

Assassins were a specialist section of MI6, they were held with fear as only the most insane could kill in cold blood yet still remain with some resemblance of sanity, they were a rare and powerful breed, to the degree that MI6 had hired many straight of the streets, covering up their crimes so that their rather curious talents and lack of morals could be used in situations to aid the country.

Agent Panther was one such man, no one save MI6 top brass knew his past, but murder was surely a part of it. He did not reflect on his past, or on how many ways he could kill a person as he walked up the porch towards a suburban house, that housed his a target. He reflected on the thrill of the kill, the smell of his victim's fear, insane was an understatement in this man's case.

"Ding..." went the bell, and Jack went to open the door. She was a young woman, short cropped hair, a t-shirt with the logo of a popular rock band, hardly old enough to care for a child, yet there she was looking after a teen aged boy, someone who for all intents and purposes was one of the most dangerous people in the world. She walked slowly her thoughts were mulling over who could be here, it wasn't Alex, he was at school, she had almost no friends in London and those that she did were busy with their daily lives. As the door swung open, what she did not expect was the cold metal of the silencer pressed closely to her slightly firm stomach.

Completely unexpected, fearing the worst she let this cold cruel man in, fearing for her life, her shivers reflecting those fears. The man however smiled in his insanity taking adverse pleasure from her fear as he produced ropes to bind her arms and legs behind her back. Her eyes lit up in horror.

"Don't scream or you'll die," said the man quietly, he had no interest in carnal pleasures, although the women before him didn't know that, he enjoyed inflicting pain and death as his cold cruel eyes shone, the duct tape he had pulled out was now plastered across her mouth. He was in charge and it was only a matter of time that his target would approach. The man smiled his plan was flawless, the local police would suspect a local criminal suspected of being surprised by the boy arriving home early, not someone with the resources of MI6.

"Mr Rider, this is the third time you've been sent to my office, fighting again?" asked a stern looking man who was in fact the headmaster of the school.

"Sir, I'm sorry," the boy replied, "It won't happen again," replied Alex Rider, as he sat contrite in the chair, his skills at acting had improved dramatically over his world saving missions.

"I am sorry Alex, I'm going to have to suspend you, I know that you are sick often but it does not excuse your behaviour," said the headmaster leaning back into his comfortable chair not knowing that the smallest actions have the largest of consequences.

It was with great reluctance that Alex stepped outside the sandstone walls that enclosed the school, suspended, he walked with surety, as the stay at home mothers passed him as the went about their daily business. The roads were teaming with trucks carrying goods to all places, he reflected upon the time when he had hidden in one to get access to a secret facility. He kept walking as he cut across the entrance to a tube station, it seemed to exist in itself a new world had it been that long he asked himself that he had fought an assassin in space.

He moved towards his house, an unremarkable dwelling standing amongst other unremarkable dwellings, with a quarter acre plot of bland green grass. He walked into the house, noting that the door was unlocked. Jack wasn't careless then why he asked, had someone finally discover where he lived?

On the other side Jack lay struggling against the tightly bound ropes, they cut and bruised her flesh as she struggled. Like a poisonous snake each welt stung with vengeance. She couldn't scream out as her faced was gagged with a steel wool, every time her mouth opened it cut her lips, every time a little deeper. Her captor was looking at the stock piled fridge, not expecting the boy home until three. Pulling out a cold chicken he pulled a leg of with excessive force chewing slowly and deliberately, imagining the pain he would have caused the animal if he were alive. He hated life, he was a connoisseur of pain, his reason for joining MI6 the pay was good, and he was permitted to practise his art.

The killer thought about his collection, a grizzly hobby, one that would cause the sane to quake in their shoes, this man collected the noses of his victims. It was his calling card, one that perplexed the local police of his native Gloucester, almost 15 years ago, a crime spree that was still unsolved. He imagined adding the nose of a 16 year old boy to his collection. It would be the rage, a collection that rivalled the works of Van Gough, no one would be able to compare to him. So caught up in his thoughts he did not hear the door open.

Alex paused at the doorway taking in the memories that decorated the walls, pictures of his parents, living happily, pictures of him smiling and cheering as a small child, next to them hung pictures of his uncle Ian Rider, now dead, that man had been his surrogate parent, both mother and father, now another dead man, a shaft of wheat cut down in its prime. He paused for a few seconds before continuing onwards.

He stepped into the living room, and to his shock Jack lay there silently crying, he stepped toward her, and began pulling at the steel wool, managing to get most of it off, her words chilled him "Alex there's a killer out for you, in the kitchen," she whispered into his ear. Her voice a faint well to the raging maelstrom of his heart.

Slipping forward he pulled out his pocket knife, slitting the bond that held her, before picking up the poker that lay in the fireplace, he's body worked on instinct alone, Jack tried but could not stop him, her eyes were mixed in their out put, calling for vengeance, yet at the same time fear, fear for herself, fear for Alex. She watched him walk stealthily toward the kitchen, the grinding of the monster's teeth could be heard.

The man sat there eating his hearty fair, each bite with slow precision, he revelled in rebellion yet the ruthlessness of his actions managed to overcome even the most toughest of his problems. He stroked his pistol like a mother would stoke her child. He sneered at the silencer, his baby was asked to be silent, a disgrace to the aural beauty of his music, He walked over to the heirloom radio and switched it on, only one channel still played as he sat back to. He dreamt where his music would be played at funerals instead of the death march. He flicked the safety first on the off, he was bored waiting yet he had been paid, his reputation demanded he wait. He knew he would have fun, the joys of listening to the cries of innocence.

He felt a dull pain spread through his neck, he saw the glistening brightness of his blood, flowing out in spurts, it had cut his artery. He smiled not in bitter irony but at the amounts of life sustaining liquid that flew from him. He saw it, he had sent a hundred people to their deaths, now he was being sent home, hell. he glanced down to see a poker, poking through his neck, the pain only began kicking in at the last moment he tried to scream, but could only gurgle. He was dead of that he had no doubt.

With his last breath of air, air that would never reach his lungs the man fired, already his eyes were hazy, but he still saw the bullet hitting his murderer's chest. He smiled as he closed his eyes to the world for the last time, the radio still cackling in the background, _"Humpty Dumpty had a great fall"_

Alex sung beside the man in a strange sense of camaraderie, he saw the bullet approach his chest, aimed to hit his heart, whether divine providence the aligning of stars, the bullet still struck his chest and he sunk beside his enemy unconscious.

---Scene Break---

The white sterile rooms reflected their never ending work, they cared for the sick with a sterile efficiency that put fear into the hearts of men. He moved his eyes to the ground, and simultaneously groaned, an assortment of toys sat on the floor, lying next to him was a young child maybe 2 or 3 , sleeping. Why he asked did he not have a room to himself. Why was he in this room?

The pain slowly came back to him an instant before the memories rushed back, the blossoming pain, the bullet approaching his chest, the unlocked door, his suspension. He remembered every detail , yet he could not help but wonder if it was a dream, only the painful bullet wound seemed to remind him of the truth of the situation, yet he still questioned, had it been that long ago since he had been shot by Scorpia?

What if all that was a dream, a fantasy, he didn't know. He turned on his side, his chest stinging painfully to face the child in the bed next to his, a sickly looking child, whose face was covered in bandages, in his hand was a teddy bear that had clearly seen better days. The child slept peacefully a song on the child's lips, _"Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall."_

***The End***

**A/N:**

Please leave a review, telling me if I've succeeded in getting my characters across. This is a standalone piece of Work, my first attempt at short story writing. You'll see more short stories coming out soon. They'll try to develop different areas of my writing. Also got tired of writing my other fic, decided that looking at a new genre might give me some creativity.

Please Review!

Underscore1990


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